


impromptu

by nitroish



Series: bbs stuff. [1]
Category: Banana Bus Squad, The Misfits (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Other, References to Depression, because hes tired, john kryoz needs a hug, john takes a break, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 14:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18527113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitroish/pseuds/nitroish
Summary: john makes his way through life slowly, like hes drifting on the breeze that lifts hair and flows through grass , making it sway softly.





	impromptu

**Author's Note:**

> john is tired and feels bad

john makes his way through life slowly, like hes drifting on the breeze that lifts hair and flows through grass , making it sway softly. he sits back and smiles and jokes, with himself and whoever happens to overhear him talking to himself. if they laugh then he shoots them a grin and then walks along. if they scoff he drops his smile and hunches his shoulders and turns the other way so they dont see him smile again, laughing to himself instead of acting as if hes sorry. he only lets himself actually frown when nothings happening, hes got nothing to say and no mood to touch on with his humour. no thoughts that occupy is mind, nothing pressing against the back of his eyes, begging to be remembered. numb and tired, dead to the world around him. earbuds blasting some music on his loud playlist, letting the songs breeze past him along with the world around him, leaving him sitting in a fast motion scene of himself sitting in one place whilst everything around him moves. when he doesnt recognize the music playing, he wants to move his hand to lift his phone from his pocket, but it feels like his body is weighed down by ten tons of brick. so he lets it play as he sits there and watches nothing happen, dull and repetitive.

he lives in a small apartment, or a decently sized one at least, theres a bedroom, a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom. its perfect for one person to live in with their cat. its small and he feels like maybe hes lonelier than he first thought, that maybe hes not as okay as he thought he was. he remembers what he was like before, before he had gotten to where he is now, and he decides that hes still better than he was. he doesnt want to fall down deep again, down into the depths of a crater that lets nothing in and nothing out once its trapped something in its nothing filled darkness. no breeze, no music, no noise expect for his own ears ringing from how loud the quiet is. no, he doesnt want that again.

so after six days of being missing in action from the online world, he steps outside onto the sidewalk and tils the camera down and takes a photo of his boots, immediately posts it on instagram after logging back in, ‘i need better wifi, but the break was sweet.’

he strolls around the side of his house and settles down in the backyard, sitting on a stone of the stone walk that goes around the side of the house. picks at some grass as he sits there, enjoying the breeze. scrolls through the comments on his post until he breathes in and feels more here on this planet, on the ground, than hes felt for weeks. closes his eyes and listens to the birds make their own music and hums his own tune softly. opens his eyes when he finally logs back into discord and reads the messages hes missed out on the past week. hunches over with his legs crossed and his fist holding his head up via his cheek as he taps around with his thumb on his other hand. sees invitations to games, to recording sessions, some concerned messages when he hadnt replied like he usually did to those messages. eyes smiits message bubble, seeing the red notification bubble. he presses the home button instead of reading them. (them, because he knows smiit. hed be worried. enough so that he might have spammed john. no regrets.)

but smiity knows john, and knows better. he saw his instagram post, saw his status bubble thing on discord go green when he logged back on. he has a notification from one of his closest friends in seconds, asking him to reply soon, that hes worried and is there for john. and john sits up straight upon reading the notification of the message he can read before it gets cut off. leans back a bit, staring at his phone until it dims the screen, signaling its about to turn off after so long of no activity. only then does he tap the phone again and then tap the screen again, pulling down the notification and pressing on the message that takes him into the discord app immediately and loads up smiits chat. he doesnt type yet, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. should he come clean, risk it with smiity, spilling his guts after six days of being absent? that sounds shitty, he thinks, so he doesnt. types out ‘hey, brother’ and smiles a bit when smiity immediately starts typing again, as if he had been waiting, and john can imagine smiity sitting at his desk or on his bed, biting at his hoodie sleeve as he anxiously waits for a reply. the smile drops when he realizes he caused that, the anxiety of a friend disappearing suddenly for six days, no warning or explanation.

and now he feels like he has to explain himself, to alleviate smiitys worried and frantic typing. so he quickly types ‘sorry bout that, man’ and he sees smiitys typing stall for a second and then come back full force, and john bites his lip and looks up when he sees a red bird float down and land in front of him. it tilts his head and stares at him before hopping along, pecking at the dirt. john wonders if he should put a bird feeder out. the ding from his phone makes both him and the bird jump, and then it flies a few feet away and john pokes his lip out at it before looking at the message.

and then he stands up, brushes his pants off, and shuffles inside, not ready for the sun or that red bird to see him when he starts to tear up upon reading the message he was sent. smitty, the fucker, knows him too well. he says what john wishes he heard three days ago when he was sitting on the floor of his bathtub with three apple cores and five other full apples sitting around him on the floor outside the tub and his phone playing a rerun of pokemon. says that he missed him, that they should hang out, play some games, record or just talk for awhile. the message is an essay length thing that john would have never been able to manage, and he gives props to smit. john closes the door, locks it, takes his boots off and sits down on his couch, still reading the message. he gets to the part, which is pretty far down, damn smiity, where he supposes smiity stopped typing to read his apology thing, where smiity dedicates two mini paragraphs to how john doesnt need to give him an apology, that he was just glad john was safe and well. says that john should never feel the need to apologize for taking a break.

john about tears up again, but his eyes feel dry and he wonders when he last cried a real cry. he slowly builds up his own reply as he reads through smiitys message, using paragraphs to answer paragraphs of things that john loves reading at the moment. presses send when hes finished, then adds a new message, a small ‘thank you, brother.’ and then, feeling to elaborate on the sorry he tacked onto the end of the last message, tacks on, ‘im apologizing for dropping off the face of the earth by the way, golfball.’ smiity is silent for a few minutes before typings again, and john can hear the canadians voice as he reads smiitys next message. then, eventually, john sits back down at his computer and turns it on. notifications for his games pop up when he logs into it, watches his desktop situate itself as it boots up all the information. glances at his phone and sees a new notification, smiity again. he reads it and pauses. does he want to talk aloud, after six days of not speaking unless he was mumbling words, monotone to whatever he was listening to? does he feel up to it, because suddenly the idea of going from nothing to playing and joking with someone makes his head feel like its heavier than it should be and hes almost disappointed in himself. but hes not, and hes going to accept the call when smiity sets it up and john hears the ring of the discord tone. because he wants to, in some regard. wants to listen to his friend rant about anything, to hear his voice when he gets excited, or angry. so he says ‘sure’ and is slammed in the face with the call screen. of course, because thats smiity.

they end up talking, smiity more than john, naturally. but then its quiet for a bit and john bites his tongue to avoid speaking out before smiity gets what he wants to say out first, theyve avoided it this long. now smiity was restless, and john was waiting for the inevitable. but it isnt brought up, and smiity goes on from the silence with a smile in his voice that john can hear, and john moves on from it with a burning in his lungs and the pressure behind his eyes saying that he needs to talk about it or hes going to crash and burn. but, he doesnt speak up, and he wont. so smiity doesnt stop and john goes along with the ride, suddenly back to the beginning, riding along as he sits back and smiles and jokes.

.

it takes him, to his own surprise, five days for him to finally crash and burn. and hes surprised, because he imagined it taking him sooner to the stake and burning him alive. but maybe suspense was part of the torture. so what hes burning, hell just take a freezing shower to stop it and get over himself with. (he doesnt do that. he entertains the idea for a few minutes though.) but smiity notices, of course he does, when john doesnt speak during a random call for awhile. smiity makes open ended jokes, waiting for john, trying to get him to speak, but john is gone. not physically, but he breathes in and when he finally, finally exhales, the words lodged in his stomach climb up his throat and bury themselves in his tongue and he tastes ash and blood that isnt there when he finally exhales, the words on his lips finally washing over the microphone of his earbuds and travel to smiitys phone and out through the speakers.

well, that makes it sound like what he has to say is a ton, or that its important, but he reminds himself that it isnt, that the words werent. five words.

‘smit, im fuckin tired, brother.’

and he knows he sounds it. he hadnt spoken, hummed, or opened his mouth or anything for hours. hed been drifting, eyes closed, trying not to get sick as he listens to smitty speak and try to make jokes to ease john out of whatever funk he was in. instead, john sounded angry, harsh and tired, like he was disinterested in what smiity had been saying for hours, and he immediately feels bad, because thats not what he wanted to say, or do, or bring up this conversation.

but smiity. smiity, bless this fucking angels soul, understands. he doesnt take offence, doesnt mistake what johns voice sounds like for what john is. theres silence and then smiity can be heard shuffling around and john swallows all his anxiety and tiredness to try and apologize anyways, to make his voice lighter and nicer, but smiity cuts him off. 

‘thats okay.’ and then theres more shuffling and smiity says something about turning his computer off. john hears the buttons click and smiity breathing, and moves from his own chair. shuts his computer down and sits down on his bed. listens to the moving around on smiitys end through his earbuds as he flops down and buries his face into his pillow and waits. tries not to make sound. smiity eventually stops hopping around or whatever and plops down onto whatever hes sitting on now. ‘y’still there, john?’ and he grunts back from his pillow. he hears a soft laugh and then, ‘i cant hear you, man. get yer face outta the pillow and talk to me.’

john stops and then sits up, shoving his pillow away, hating that smiity was right. ‘i dunno what youre talkin bout. what pillow. i dont own any pillows.’ and smiity giggles, and john smiles just a bit. but then serious mcsmiity is back and john is laying down on his side, staring at his dark room as the sun goes down.

‘youre tired.’ smiity says, and john closes his eyes as if that would help him navigate this conversation, that the answer would be embedded into the back of his eyelids. which it isnt, and john thinks that thats kind of rude.

‘yeah.’ and john cant hear himself now because smiity started playing some kind of music on his end, the kind youd hear in the travel vlog aesthetic things. ‘yeah, i am. music aint helpin though, smit.’ and smiity knows its a joke, that john is trying to play it off, and he knows better than to let john back off from this conversation now.

‘talk to me.’ and john turns his face into his blankets and wishes he wasnt this difficult for people to get talking. smiity, with his soft voice, speaks back up and john listens closely. ‘im here for you, man. i cant do nothin’ from here in canada but listen and try to talk to you about shit, but i cant do that if i dont know whats goin on.’

john breathes in and draws a blank on what to say. so he says, ‘i dunno whats wrong, smit. im just-’ and theres a pause, as he tries to find a better word other than what his instincts tell him to say, but he cant find one. so he continues. ‘tired.’ and maybe smiity sets his phone down on something soft, because john can hear the fabric move over the mic on the bottom of smits phone. listens to the music play and smiity breathe and settle down again. one smit is done moving around, he continues. ‘i guess i do know whats wrong, its the fact that im tired all the time, but. i dont know the reason?’

to which smiity cuts in and quickly says, ‘thats fine! you- yeah, thats fine, you dont need to know right now what the reason is. thats why its good to like. talk about this stuff, you know? so you can like, peel the layers off of the top one by one and get to the root cause, right? does that make sense? i think it does.’ and john thinks wow, smiity sure knows how to sound smart as shit. so he believes smiity immediately and his concerned, soft voice because what he just said sounds like something people would believe and uphold. john cracks his wrist as he twists it in a circle out of habit as he thinks about nothing and emptiness. smiity and he are quiet again, listening to the music playing in the back. john grabs his pillow, the one hed shoved away, and curls around it. john changes the subject.

‘is this a nonphysical sleepover, smiity? talking about deep things and listening to music? are we gonna talk about drama now? do our nails?’ and john revels in smiitys laugh, smiles and stretches his legs out.

‘yeah man, its whatever you want it to be.’ john can think of ten ways he could take this. 

he doesnt do the obvious one, and goes for the second obvious one, at least to him its obvious.

‘sweet. ive always wanted to know what a sleepover was like.’ and smiity snorts and says that they can have sleepovers whenever they want, actually. to which john looks up at the ceiling and blesses whatever fucking entity created smiity in response, because now hes blinking back tears as he listens to his friend say the simplest thing. and hes so tired, and numb, and broken feeling, but so help him hell if smiity isnt a fucking reason to smile then john can and would scream the world is dead right out his window right now. he swallows down the lump in his throat when smiity speaks again.

‘before we, uh, move on, i guess? can i…’ smiity trails off before he finishes, or maybe his phone mic just doesnt pick up the rest of his sentence, so john waits until he realizes that maybe he should pipe up. 

‘what? i didnt hear what you said, you kinda cut off there, smit.’

‘just. dont. disappear for six bordering on seven days? please? it. scared me.’ theres a pause there, john listens to smiity say nothing, waiting, and lo and behold he says one more thing. ‘a lot.’

so john feels bad, of course he does, this is one of his closest friends hes thinkin about here. the idea of scaring smiity by going offline for awhile makes sense, he supposes, considering everything. the no warning thing especially. theyve been friends for almost three years, smiity knows him almost as well as john knows himself. so, john, feeling empty and hollow, closes his eyes and pushes a hand under his shirt to rest on his stomach as he replies,

‘yeah, man. ill give a heads up next time.’ because he cant promise not to go offline again. he cant. he cant promise that, and while he knows he wishes he could promise something like that, he cant. he cant promise that when the idea of recording and talking to more than just one person at a time already feels like more than he might be able to handle despite having taken six days off from recording and being in calls with everyone. he hears smiity smile and say a small thanks. then they continue as is, almost forgetting about kyrozs impromptu break.

smiity falls asleep before john does, and john doesnt have it in him to hang up, so he leaves the phone and the music thats still playing on smiitys end on the bedside table and closes his eyes. he doesnt fall asleep for another few hours, but hes completely fine with listening to music and relaxing in bed. at some point he opened his eyes, he remembers, and watched a similar looking red bird perch itself in the tree outside his window. he hums at it and goes back to staring at the back of his eyelids until he falls asleep.


End file.
